


self-control

by Raikishi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Butt Plugs, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Seduction, Sex Toys, Sexual Frustration, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mentions of pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raikishi/pseuds/Raikishi
Summary: “I’m surprised you held out for as long as you did.”He pauses at that. Tilts his head at her.And oh no –She recognizes the schemer surfacing in him. Has pulled too many poisoned vials and banned texts from his pockets to not. But as quickly as it’d come, it’s gone again, tucked away beneath an exaggerated pout. She squints at him, immediately suspicious.“Now what does that mean, my love?”“Some of us have self-control."“Is that so?”In which Byleth does not have self-control.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 20
Kudos: 121





	self-control

**Author's Note:**

> Going to count this as wank week day 4. I wanted to do the whole week but alas, not enough time ; o ;

Claude purrs as he leans into the circle of her arms. Always so eager for touch. It’s utterly at odds with the way Byleth had been raised. The mercenary band had orbited her respectfully, hovered at her periphery, afraid to meet her gaze. She quite likes the way Claude seems to relish in her attention. Likes that he maintains eye contact as he rubs the palms of her hand raw on his beard. She likes the way he kisses her cheek and throat.

“Mm, what’re you thinking about?” Claude breathes into her ear as he presses up between her legs, all long lines and graceful arches. He raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. He’s so precisely put together, a careful beauty who could turn razor in a moment’s notice.

“You,” Byleth replies honestly and he beams at her for it.

So gorgeous.

“As you should,” he says, sucking a bruise into her throat and then tugging free the loose ties of her collar with his teeth. His smile turns wicked as he reaches down between her legs, teasing, “My, Teach, how long have you been thinking of me?”

She huffs. Eager little thing. So greedy for compliments. 

“About as long as you were thinking of me,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she cups the front of his pants, “I’m surprised you held out for as long as you did.” 

He pauses at that. Tilts his head at her.

And oh no –

She recognizes the schemer surfacing in him. Has pulled too many poisoned vials and banned texts from his pockets to not. But as quickly as it’d come, it’s gone again, tucked away beneath an exaggerated pout. She squints at him, immediately suspicious. 

“Now what does that mean, my love?” he asks, all mock offense, so absurdly exaggerated she can’t help but be drawn in, “Surprised _I_ held out for as long as I did? Do you imagine you’d hold out longer?” 

Byleth smiles, unable to keep the affection off her face, “I’ve watched you topple out of a tree because you got a little too excited about your climbing prowess. And frighten away my fish because you grew bored at the docks.”

He nips at her lip, angling himself like a little treat, all playful smiles as he looks at her. It’s downright intoxicating and she doesn’t hear his next question until he repeats it.

“Byleth, my question - do you imagine you’d hold out longer?”

“Obviously.”

He arches an eyebrow but says nothing. Claude only leans in to kiss her sweetly. Over and over until she forgot everything but the weight and feel of him and could think of nothing but the sweet pleasure drawn by the slow rock of his hips. Claude's eyes slide shut as he allows her to take control. Allows her to explore. She loves it when he allows her to do as she pleases. Lets her drink him as greedily as she did any ale. She toys with the single lock of hair he can never keep in place. Rubs her hands over his beard. His brow. His throat. She dips her hand in the cut of his shirt, toying with a nipple. 

“Some of us have self-control,” she says, feeling too bold, too intoxicated on his presence.

“Is that so?” 

He rises over her like a panther, green eyes smoldering as he leans close. His mouth hovers just over hers. The feel of him against her heady and – 

“Then you let me know when you cannot wait any longer,” he purrs in her ear, the words at odds with the way he’s spoken them. Voice deep and low, beckoning her closer until – 

She blinks when he pulls away, her mind replaying the words as she watches him readjust his shirt. A fierce " _no"_ works in her throat as he ties his belt around his waist again. 

“Claude.”

“Yes, Teach?” he asks, wearing a downright wicked smile. Daring.

“You –“ she reaches out for him and he catches her hand. Brings up to his lips. 

“Caving already?”

“No,” the word floats up before she can think. The old mercenary in her unable to back down from such a clear fight. Especially not before a smug noble dripping with so much self-satisfaction.

She curls her hands into fists, tugging away. Her entire body tenses as he leans in, heat coiling in her belly as he reaches for her collar. A part of her wants to lean into the touch. Purr and sigh at him and order him to tear the shirt from her. But he only redoes the tie of her collar. 

She frowns at him for his little game, mouth parting around a snipe. The brush of his knuckles against the sensitive skin of her throat silences the words in her mouth.

“Of course not, Teach,” he says and she has the distinct sense he is laughing at her, “You have too much self-control.”

His tongue caresses the tail end of that word, hugging the syllables. 

“Yes,” Byleth grinds out, unable to help herself.

“Well,” he says and she has to fight not to throw him to the ground when he pulls away from her again, “You let me know when you’ve hit your limit, Teach.”

* * *

“Hello, my love,” he greets her in the morning with a faint smile, sleep-addled and soft. 

Byleth has to scream at her body to behave. To tamp down the immediate rush of desire. Stop herself from throwing him against his ridiculous fort of pillows and riding him until he forgot his plans for the day. 

Claude hums, ignoring her thoughts as he pushes out of bed. The easy confidence in his own nudity makes her squirm.

He crosses the room and she stares too long at his ass as he goes, flushing all over when he bends down to reach the last drawer. His back muscles flex as he shifts through his clothes, pausing every now and again to allow her a good long glimpse of the trail of hair down his stomach. His pert ass. His cock. As if he's arranging himself for painting.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” she realizes.  


“I’m only getting dressed,” Claude replies and then strides across the room, planting himself firmly between her legs as he bows his head to her. As if he were a good boy deserving of a treat instead of an absolute menace, “Teach, I can’t put my earring in. Help.”

“Pick another one,” she says, hiding into the pillows because if she looks at his bared neck for a second longer she’s going to sink her teeth into him. 

“Ah, but Byleth, I like this one,” he says, “ _You_ gave it to me after all and I do like to keep my love close.”

Byleth is absolutely not charmed. Not swayed by the besotted dreamy look he gives her. Not at all.

She carefully pokes his earring in place, looping the chain over the gentle curve of his ear to clasp at the top. The deer insignia winks at her in the sunlight and it draws her attention down his neck. At the smooth slope tilted in open invite. She leans in to lick – to bite – anything –  


“Thanks, Teach!” Claude chirps, halfway across the room immediately. He bends again to pick up his pants, pulling the silk slow over golden skin. Those should be coming _off_. Claude turns to face her and she hurries to control her expression. From the smile on his face, she does not succeed, “Oh, were you saying something?”

“Not at all,” Byleth replies between clenched teeth, flopping back into the pillows and burying her face. 

* * *

She can survive. She’s felt no emotion for years. Desire was only another emotion and she can cut it from herself if need be –

“Heya Teach!” the old familiar drawl. 

She cannot cut it from herself.

Byleth nearly swallows her tongue when Claude beckons her over to the training grounds. 

He’s shirtless. Of course. The heat’s relentless otherwise. 

She follows a droplet of sweat down his jawline, into the divot of his collarbone, wanting desperately to lick it off his skin. She looks elsewhere. Finds nothing to latch onto but the firm slope of his abs. The trail of hair leading – 

“Teach,” he pouts at her and he is too close too quickly. The musk of him heady and thick as he hovers over her, his hand hot over her bare arm as he tugs. 

Sothis, she wants to put him to the _ground_.

“I can’t get this sword form,” he says with a terribly false pout, not even pretending to mask his true goal, “Show me won’t you, Teach?”

“You have swordmasters for that,” she snaps and his eyes gleam at her.

“Indeed I do but I asked my darling wife. The Hero of Fodlan has no match when it comes to the blade,” Claude says and then tilts his head, licking his lips as he looks her over, “Unless there’s a reason you can’t?”

“I can,” she says and hates herself a little.

She spins him around, ignoring the urge to sink her nails into the skin of his back, guides his elbow a few inches higher, well aware that she’s taught him all this before.

“Like this?” he asks, turning into her throat to breathe the question against her neck. 

She can feel the muscles of his back rippling with the move and her grip tightens just a fraction on his upper arm. Claude makes a noise under his breath, something low and intimate and so startlingly like the sounds he makes when she has him pinned to the sheets, she drops his arm, entire body set to flame. Heedless of her struggles or perhaps damnably aware, he licks a droplet of sweat from the corner of his mouth, face flushed and teasing; the same heavy challenge in his eyes when she’d tried pegging him the first time and – 

“You two having some problems?” Nader asks, a look of confusion on his face.

“No,” Byleth says, far sharper than she’d meant to. She steps deliberately away from Claude, refusing to look at him, knowing that if she did she’d have to steal the sword from his hands and slash his pants apart. Pin him into the dirt of the training grounds. Nader and the other soldiers be damned. She grinds her teeth, “It’s hot. I’m going to the baths.”

And proceeds to drown herself in a cold bath.

* * *

When Byleth emerges, she has a strategy in place. Because she was a strategist. A good one. Had trained leaders and won a war with her mind. 

Unlike any other battlefield, her strategy this time is simple. She just has to avoid Claude. Keep from looking at him. From hearing him. From – everything really.

It’d be a lot easier if she didn’t love looking at him so damn much. 

Claude is an extraordinarily handsome man. Had been charming and baby-faced as a teen but as a man has filled out with sharp lines and a thief’s smile made for stealing hearts. Every time she glances at him, she wants to tear the shirt from his chest. Or grab his ass. Whichever happened to be closest. He is gorgeous in everything, be it loungewear or training attire. 

But he is downright dangerous when they are entertaining, dressed in his evening best, wreathed in jewelry and gold. 

Byleth doesn’t think about the promise he’d made nights ago. That she can fuck him with those on. Could have him beautifully adorned and laid out for her like a prize to be claimed. 

She doesn’t think about it at all as she spears her food. 

“Is everything … alright?” Dimitri looks between the two of them, concern tensing his jaw and hunching his shoulders.

“Oh, I’m sure everything’s great,” Sylvain says, a little quiver to his mouth as if he were laughing at her and Byleth resists running him through with her dinner knife. He wiggles his brows at her, “Maybe not for _Teach_ here.”

“Hey now, only I get to call her Teach,” Claude says, and she stares at the elegant curve of his fingers over his goblet. 

At the fine gold bands around his knuckles. The roughness on the pads of his fingers. Her belly tightens at the thought of them inside her.

Claude clears his throat, guiding her gaze upwards as he brings the goblet to his mouth. She watches helplessly as he purses his lips over the rim, his tongue teasing the lip, “Isn’t that right, Teach?”

Somehow all she hears is _Fuck me._

“Sure,” Byleth manages, her voice cracking.

“Always did know how to wrap someone around your little finger,” Sylvain says, openly laughing now. He looks between the two of them and then leers at Claude, popping a cherry in his mouth to tie the stem with his tongue, “You know … if Teach isn’t able to satisfy your needs …”

Byleth is going to snap him in half.

“Goddess!” Dimitri seems to have caught on to what’s happening, blushing to the roots of his hair as he looks between them, his mouth parted in a little ‘O’ of scandalized shock. 

“I-I _um_ , we can leave you alone if you’d like to retire early. I understand you are newly wed – _um -_ obviously you must have – _uh…_ oh, Goddess, Professor - I’m so sorry,” he stammers out, his words growing increasingly jumbled, his expression growing more and more panicked. 

“Oh no,” Claude says, “We’re absolutely _fine_.”

“Are you certain?!” Dimitri looks as if he’d happily be anywhere but here, his blue eye wide as a saucer when Claude drips wine over his chest.

“Oops, clumsy me,” Claude says, shaking his head a little as he pushes the liquid against his skin with long fingers, “But no, we’re fine, Dimitri.”

Byleth had licked the same wine off there during their honeymoon. Tracked the rich Faerghus blend off his nipples before sucking them off his knuckles and then followed the trail downwards when he’d spilled a healthy dose over his cock and – 

_Fucking hells._

She looks down at the fork she’d snapped in half, her Crest tingling at her fingertips still as she sets it aside. 

Sylvain chokes on his own laughter, in tears as he pounds his knee and Claude… 

Claude only winks at her.

“Some of us have _self-control,_ ” he reminds her. 

* * *

“How frightening, Byleth,” Claude coos over her shoulder that night when they’re readying themselves for bed. She’s sharpening her sword because if she watches him undress she’s going to put him against the wall or put a hole through the wall. And because she’s not allowed the first, she’s sparing their bedroom of further damage.

Claude takes in her expression and for a half-second seems to take pity on her, “You know … you can stroke something else if you just ask.”

“Why? Ready to give in?” she asks because she can’t just cave to his wicked tease. Hadn’t as his Professor. Can’t now. 

Sothis, she hates herself.

“Hmm, very well,” Claude says, drawing back.

She looks away as he starts to take off his shirt, listening with only half an ear as she works on her blade. She runs her fingers over the fine bone handle, focused on cleaning even the smallest crevices because if she turns around she’s going burst into flames.

“Byleth,” he calls and she knows better than to look at him when his voice dips low into that sinful purr.

She does anyways because evidently, she’s lost her strategist mind in the war. 

Byleth utters a low swear, foul enough to make Claude laugh as she drops her sword. It sinks into the floor, blade down, wearing away the edge. She swears again. 

Some part of her is relieved she’d not stabbed herself in the foot, the other part of her is far too preoccupied with the golden chains decorating Claude’s thigh. Delicate little things that would snap the second he moved a little too quickly. The chains loops in three neat rows around the dense muscle of his thigh, adorned with a series of small glittering stones, and she follows the trail to –

Her mind burns out in fire.

Byleth watches, desire dripping off her tongue as he bends over for her under the pretense of removing his pants. Allows her a perfect view of the rose plug nestled between his cheeks. It’s intoxicatingly pretty. Just as he is. The arches of the rose petals are outlined in gold, contrasting nicely with his skin. 

“Byleth,” he calls again, pitched low and heavy, the same sultry purr that poured out from the very core of him when she’s allowed him to wring out at least two orgasms from her. 

_Only Claude could make the Goddess sin,_ Hilda had said once. 

Byleth looks up to meet his eyes and with a start, realizes he’s left the other jewels on. Decorated himself like a king’s favorite concubine, draped in gold and gemstones. Gold bands hug his bicep, outlining the firm cut of muscle. One earring drapes over his neck, hanging down low like a curtain to be pushed aside. An obscenely beautiful necklace hangs around his neck. The gold has been worked into delicate leaves, each chain resembling a vine, drooping over his chest. She’s not thought much about it when it’d been over silk and cloth. Now, lying directly over his skin with each delicate vine brushing the edge of a nipple – Byleth stifles a little moan under her breath, trying to turn away but unable to remove her gaze from the gorgeous picture he made of himself.

Claude stretches out beneath her gaze, one hand scratching his belly as he bites his lip, beckoning her with dark eyes as he posits a question wrapped in a moan.

“What?” Byleth blinks at him. She can practically feel her mind leaking from her ears. She stiffens when he approaches her, entire body twitching. 

“I said, I need help removing the necklace, Byleth,” he says, affecting a pout, “It’s as if you don’t listen to me at all, my love.”

She opens her mouth to reply but the words vanish into smoke as he drops to his knees between her legs and –

_Sothis._

She tracks the flex and ripple of his back as he bends his head. Stares at the fine hairs at the very base of his neck. The sharp cut of his cheek, glowing under the candlelight. She wants to put her hands on him. To drag her nails over the back of his head. To bite and pinch and –

Claude peers up at her with a coquettish look, one hand hot on her inner thigh as he shifts, a little frisson of open pleasure on his face as he arches on the plug, his cock twitching between his legs –

She throws him to the ground hard enough, he yelps, both hands flailing around her neck and then smoothing over her mouth when she tries to kiss him. Holding her back. Byleth growls at him, her fingers sinking bruises into his hip.

“Now, now, Teach,” he purrs at her, thighs flexing on both sides of her hip, “This could be construed as cheating –“

“You win. I give up,” she snaps, pinning his wrists above his head as she slots her mouth over his. Claude gives in easily enough, humming in victory as he parts his mouth for her, lets her draw amusement and wine off his tongue as he rocks against her.

“I thought some of us have self-control?” he giggles, losing the sound on a breathless moan as she bites at his pec, shivering as she traces her tongue over the delicate peak of a nipple. 

“You do. Congrats,” she says.

“Oh, Teach,” he moans, squirming away from her, barking out a laugh when she growls and shackles his wrists again. Claude licks at her jaw, peppering her throat with kisses as he rolls against her, “Come now. Let me enjoy my victory. Who was it, that couldn’t last?”

“I was,” Byleth admits, unable to do anything but indulge him because the easy laughter on his face makes her pulse roar, carries the Goddess’ strength through her harder than any Crest. She kisses him again. Slower. Enjoying the taste of him. The breathless whimpers she draws from him. The flushed heat that slips over his cheeks.

He whimpers as her thigh nudges the tail end of the plug.

Fuck, the _plug_.

She spreads his legs wide, growling at the delicate rose inside him and the drip of gold on the inside of his thighs. Byleth shivers, struck with the idea of seeing him spill over those chains. To streak the skin between. She reaches for the plug and he bats her hand away.

"Claude," she snarls at him. 

“I believe you lost, Teach,” Claude says on a deep groan as he trails a hand down his belly to circle his cock. 

The gold of his rings glitter at her beneath the candlelight. For a long moment, she imagines another piece of jewelry to fit over his cock. Make him nice and pretty and well-behaved. 

Slowly, he strokes up the shaft, fingers pinching tight over the crown and she watches, mouth watering at the droplet of precum he coaxes out from his slit. With a low groan, he works the new wetness over his cock, shivering as his thighs flex all around her. 

He pulls away when she reaches for his cock. 

“I admitted you were right,” she says, voice shattered through with desperation.

“Mmm,” Claude hums as if thinking on it, his schemer’s grin drifting away as his body unrolls with pleasure.

Byleth wants to touch. Now. She growls at him when he pins her arms with his thighs, shivering as he arches his hips. The plug digs into her belly, pressing into her as he rocks back on it. A mockery of her strap and it rocks her so hard, she’s made dizzy by the thought.

“Claude.”

A warning.

One he does not heed.

If anything it makes him bolder. 

“I’ve decided that acquiescence is simply not enough of a prize,” he says on a little moan as he strokes his cock, shuddering at whatever he must find on her face. It takes him a moment but he manages to drag up a grin again, too caught up in his own pleasure, “Don’t look like that, Byleth. I’m certain - _ooh_ \- you can manage a little more _self-control._ ”

Teasing little minx. Byleth’s going to wear the lesson into his ass well enough he cannot sit tomorrow. She sits back on her heels, nearly dizzy with want as he bucks into her. 

He touches himself readily, unrolling before her like a scroll painting. 

Despite her annoyance, she cannot deny he is stunning like this. His head tossed to the ceilings as he cries out sweet moans. His hair cast out of its perfect coif, spilling over the ground. The long expanse of his throat, dripping with sweat as he arches out a thick wail, pretty little mouth twisted in a shameless gasp of pleasure. His cock, thick and twitching between long fingers. The gleam of sweat over his lower belly as he caresses his balls, groaning loud and shameless as he rolls them in hand.  


Her beautiful golden stag. 

Fine. 

She can indulge him. 

For now.

“Claude,” she breathes out and the call of his name makes him quake, “ _Khalid.”_

“Yes–!” he groans, rocking harder into her, driving his hips into her belly, practically drooling as he works his hips in tight jerks. His thighs twitch wider for a fraction of a second. Nearly losing their grip around her. 

Any other time, she’d be fucking him hard and fast, working her strap into him in long thrusts until his thighs fell apart for her. Until his resistance blew away as he surrendered beneath her. 

He strokes faster. The pace he’d kept before she’d started demanding a show, the impatient jerky rush common for a man accustomed to seeking pleasure in wartime. In stealing lurid moments between meetings. 

Byleth dips her head over his thigh, sinking in deep with her teeth, into the thick belly of a muscle until he yelps and gasps, groaning beneath her, entire body shaking from pleasure and pain.

“Faster, Khalid,” she breathes over his skin, and he whimpers, slamming his hips back into her so hard she nearly stumbles. With a little growl, Byleth steadies herself, providing a brace to the plug inside him as she mouths at his thigh. His hip. Anything she can reach, purring encouragement all the while, “Just like that, beautiful. Take your pleasure. Your prize. You’ve _earned_ it –“

“Byleth – Byleth –“ her name becomes a siren song, a litany of thick gasps and moans, stumbling clumsily from his mouth as he arches, entire body going tight, hedging on the very edge. His green eyes flash at her, dark and adoring, drinking in the sight of her as he pushes himself closer, groaning as she breathes her allowance over his fingers. 

“Come for me, Khalid,” she orders, bending forward to swipe her tongue over his wedding ring, slow over the underbelly of his cock, catching glimpses of his taste between his fingers, and with a wild broken gasp, he obeys, hot and hungry and perfect, over his abdomen. His chest. A fleck over his nipple just beneath the vine chain. 

His legs fall apart, trembling as he works himself through his orgasm, chasing the peak, entire body writhing against her. Byleth flexes her freed arms, a little smirk pulling her mouth as she watches him wring out the last of his seed, watches it drip between his knuckles onto the inside of his thighs, fitting just beneath the chains. As she’d so imagined.

He shivers on the last ghost moan spilling from his lips, sighing into her mouth as she kisses him. He's slow to return the kiss, made loose and clumsy by his orgasm and she guides him back down slowly until he has the wherewithal to tug at her neck and moan into her mouth.  


“Good?” Byleth asks lightly and he stretches out on a little mewl, the sound twisting into a yelp when she folds him in half. He husks out a long delighted groan as she drags at the plug with her teeth, eyes flashing as she tugs it downwards, holding him open on the thickest part, “Then it’s at last my turn.”

**Author's Note:**

> byleth: stupid sexy claude


End file.
